writings of questionable intent

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99BPM. An elevated heartbeat. Not quite a rest, not quite a workout. Maybe a panic attack, tension, trepidation.

99BPM. The mood of the country.

99BPM.

It’s been a week of things I don’t know how to do, how to resolve the hate in people I love, how to deal with the anger of everyone around, how to acknowledge my own privilege and what I can do to mitigate it. This was not just a presidential election, it was a referendum on the social mood of the country. It was an event where we were forced to ask the question of whether eight years of an Obama presidency had made as much progress in the hearts of the humans who live in the United States of America as it had in the courts. The answer, of course, was not as much as the bleeding heart liberal that I have come to consider myself would have hoped.

99BPM. I’ll come down soon. This will feel real soon. The path, my role in the next four years, it’ll clarify itself soon enough.